“I’m gonna soak up the sun, got
my 45 on, so I can rock on.” Sheryl Crow
The snow-capped mountain stood
almost mockingly before me. “I dare you,” whispered the wisps of clouds that
snagged on its peak like a shirt on a chain-link fence.
At 20,574 feet, Mount Salkantay
is the highest peak in the Willkapampa mountain range in the Peruvian Andes. It
is about 40 miles from the town of Cusco where I had just spent two days
getting acclimated to the altitude and eating as much pollo saltado as
possible. A three-hour bumpy van ride took my buddy Dave and I to our starting
point at the bottom of Salkantay. We were with two other Americans, our guide,
our cook and his young daughter. We ate lunch in short sleeves under the warm
midday sun. The white top of the mountain looked as big as Everest in its
setting against the deep blue sky.
We were about to begin a four-day
hike to Machu Picchu and in my excitement I may have missed some valuable packing
information. Our guide told us we could lighten our backpacks by putting some
items on the mules that the cook used to ferry our supplies from camp to camp.
Since it was so balmy during lunch, I chose to have the mules carry my heavy
fleece coat, hat, and gloves. Not my greatest Edmund Hilary moment.
We walked for a few hours toward
the looming mountain when suddenly we changed direction. We didn’t go left or
right. Not east or west. We started going up … as in up the mountain.
Instantly, as if on cue, it started snowing. Then the wind began swirling. The
trail coiled in tight switchbacks and with each turn the temperature seemed to
drop 10 degrees. I borrowed an extra jacket from Dave, but it did little to
shield me from the wind and cold. Breathing became harder and my steps tougher
as the air thinned in the altitude. It was like walking underwater in boots
made of concrete.
I trudged into our camp for the
night exhausted and freezing. At 15,000 feet my head ached and my stomach was
seriously queasy. I crawled into my tent, put on every piece of warm clothing I
had brought, and sank into my sleeping bag. I couldn’t sleep. The cocoa tea we
drank in Cusco to ward off altitude sickness kept me from barfing but infused
me with insomnia. I lay awake all night secretly wishing for a helicopter to
take me off that miserable mountain and hoping I wasn’t going to end up in John
Krakauer’s next book.
The helicopter didn’t arrive in
the morning so I knew that the only way off of the mountain was to walk. Believe
me, descending can be just as arduous as ascending, just ask my knees. At least
the temperature warmed up and by reaching a lower level in the atmosphere, the
air became breathable. We hiked about 15 miles that day and reached camp at
nightfall. Despite being physically worn out, I felt better with warmth, food,
and sleep.
Once we were off the mountain, the
third and fourth days of the journey were delightful. The trail leveled off and
took us through lush jungles with waterfalls and rushing rivers. We traded in
the heavy coats for shorts and T-shirts. We ended up in secluded train depot
where we caught a ride to the town of Aguas Calientes. After a soak in the
local hot springs, a pizza, a shower, and a real bed, we entered Machu Picchu
early the next morning.
There’s no way to adequately
compare what walking into Machu Picchu at sunrise was like. Imagine seeing the
Grand Canyon and the Manhattan skyline at the same time. It’s indescribable. I
urge you to go. And you don’t have to hike in; you can grab a train from Cusco
to Aguas Calientes.
Later this month, it’ll be five
years since the trip to Machu Picchu that commemorated turning 40. Now, I’m halfway
to 90. Geezer-hood is right around the corner. That’s 45 trips around the sun.
Each lap is 584,020,178 miles and come with zero frequent flyer miles from Alec
Baldwin.
The Incas, who built Machu Picchu
back in the 1400s, were major fans of the sun. Aside from worshipping the sun
god, Inti, they considered their king to be a child of the sun. Machu Picchu
itself is set up with the sun in mind. Two of its three main structures are
known as the Hitching Post of the Sun and the Temple of the Sun. While there, I
remember the Hitching Post of the Sun to be extremely fascinating. Similar to a
sun dial, it is a stone that points directly at the sun during the two
equinoxes. The Incas believed the stone held the sun in its place along its
annual path in the sky. At Midday on March 21st and September 21st,
the sun is almost directly above the pillar. The Incas held ceremonies at the
stone in which they “held the sun” to halt its northward movement in the sky.
It’s an amazing feat for a people
group who weren’t placing any phone calls to Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo. Wanting
to stop the sun is also a pretty interesting concept. It’s sort of like those
of us who wish to halt or even reverse the passage of time and the aging
process. I’ve never been too concerned with getting older. Milestone birthdays
don’t bother me. Maybe it’s because I don’t look or act my age. I’m thankful
that I haven’t had to visit an ophthalmologist yet and that I can still go from
first to third on a single. I know the days of three-hour basketball sessions
are completely in the past, but I can still go 60 minutes with a heavy bag a
few days a week. I understand that more vitamins and perhaps a daily
prescription or two is par for the course. One of these days my hair might even
start graying.
The earth keeps orbiting the sun.
There’s no way to halt its course. And when my knees feel creaky and my back
hurts, I can remember the hike up Mount Salkantay. Because nothing was that
tough. Although, it sure made arriving at our destination all the better. And
isn’t that the case with any difficult journey or task? Pain and suffering are
replaced by joy and satisfaction. Hiking to Machu Picchu was a trip of a
lifetime, but I’d never do it again. Besides, there are other mountains to
conquer. Which reminds me, I need to tell Dave that we’re doing Kilimanjaro in
five years.
